A Rogue Renaissance
by Macaronic-Paradox
Summary: HR post 5.5: Not all choose to live in exile and as Harry's life hangs in the balance will treachery allow the return of a lost love and a happy ending? ;D
1. Chapter 1

**Having long hoped that Ruth will make a return I thought I might give Kudos an idea to play with...enjoy.**

Note: I've tried my best to correctly translate the French but apologies for any mistakes.

I don't own them, please don't sue.

**A Rogue Renaissance**

**Chapter One**

Thin cable ties dug deep into Harry's skin and the edges scored his wrists as he shifted his weight on the wooden chair which wobbled on the uneven floor boards. His muscles began to cramp as the restraints pulled his shoulders back, rigidly fixing his wrists to the chair.

The room was cold and damp, broken shafts of light filtered through small grubby windows. Dirtied white walls and wooden beams shaped the room. To his front was a heavy wooden door. An old soiled sofa was pushed hard up against one of the walls, the only piece to furnish the room.

It had been a day since his hurried abduction. His memory blurred from the various drugs pumping round his system, he had no recollection of how he'd come to arrive at his new home. Wherever he was he guessed it was remote.

The sound of voices drifted within the cottage. As he contemplated his predicament the large oak door opened. Two masked figures, each holding an air of confidence, entered in silence. The first was a thickset man dressed in a grey suit, black leather gloves dressed his hands and a baklava shielded all but his eyes and strip of flesh at his mouth. The other was a women dressed all in black. She wore boots, trousers and a high polo necked top. Just as her accomplice, her face and identity was hidden from view. The woman kept her distance, swiftly closing the door behind their entrance. The man walked directly towards Harry, squatting down to match Harry's eye level both men were drawn into a silent stare as each weighed up the other. Harry had little time for these mind games. "What is it you want?"

The recipient of his words had no problem in matching his frankness. He had a soft tone but creases round his eyes betrayed a bitterness. "I want the respect I and many others deserve."

Harry scoffed "Well if respect is what you want, this is the wrong way to go about it."

A sneer stretched under his baklava and his hot breath steamed on Harry's face as he leaned in. "Oh and you think you know what _way_ I'm going?... You don't even know who I am."

"True, so enlighten me?" His tone was laced with sarcasm

The man rose to his feet and started to slowly pace round Harry and the distinct clunk of footwear on the wooden boards echoed softly round the room. Arriving to the rear he lent his heavy hands on Harry's shoulders and spoke softly to his ear. "Tell me Pearce, you've given your whole life to the service, to your country but of those who served alongside you, how many were cast off? How many has the service abandoned, denied existed, left to rot in squalor or have been thrown to the wolves?" He abruptly released Harry's shoulders and with a quickness to his step he continued to pace his circle.

As an unsettling notch tightened in his stomach, there was no contempt in Harry's words. "Who _exactly_ are you?"

The question was greeted with a sneer, "Who. Am. I?… It's not who I am, but who I was. Andrew Cook..." Harry Frowned as although familiar he couldn't place the name. "... I am one of many who deserve to be redeemed, honoured and recognised by the joke that is the British intelligence services. I gave my life to the service only to be used and then thrown out as it suited those pencil pushing bureaucrats. I should be wearing a row of medals not living in exile! So it's my intension to make the service sit up, take notice and provide for those who've done so much for their country."

Harry mussed a moment as he saw the pain in Andrew's eyes. His thoughts briefly turned to his own officers lost to exile, Zoe and of course Ruth. He couldn't help but feel for the man before him but as much as he understood his anger he could not condone it. He spoke plainly but with heartfelt honesty.

"It's an honourable aim, and I for one will _never_ forget the debt I owe to friends fallen in the course of duty*. Andrew, I don't pretend to know what happened to you but I do know there are times when officers unfairly shoulder blame; however those in the service are aware of the risks that come with the job. You aren't honoured, there _is_ no recognition. Those after medals and glory join the damn army."

Harry had underestimated the volatile mix of resentment and hatred flowing through the man's veins. The last of his words were not taken to kindly. There was a loud solid thud as a four knuckle fist connected with his cheek bone.

Harry gasped as the pain throbbed through his jaw. Snapping his neck up he saw the woman accomplice had engaged Andrew, roughly shoving his shoulder. Her tongue was French and unfamiliar.

"Assez ! … et nos noms, nous avons convenu. Vous ne parlez pas?"

["Enough! … and our names, we agreed we would not say them. Remember?"]

Andrew lost his air of level-headedness and shoved her back in the direction she'd come and almost threw her off balance. "I didn't say _yours _did I!" His deathly stare subdued her any further protests.

Harry swallowed his throbbing pain and began to reason with Andrew. Now his words were directed at them both and hoped he might get through to this woman. "Taking me, how will that help? I can't re-write history for you, I can't change what's happened. ...I wish I could. I could look into your files and in time maybe I-"

Andrew cut him off. "No. We know there's no coming back, just moving on and that... that requires finance."

Harry had often seen the plight of a just cause turn rotten through greed and inwardly groaned as a sense of disappointment filled him. Any sense of common pity he'd held for them and their plight had rapidly dissipated. His exasperated words left his mouth as a disappointed sigh. "So it's money you're after?"

Harry's tone again sparked Andrew's short fuse and he spat his words. "No it's compensation! And perhaps the reassurance that The British government will in future think twice about how it treats us … But like you said it needs to be bigger than just snatching you and it is, much bigger. You'll be our messenger and deliver our message to the JIC and the government."

"And what message is that?"

Andrew adjusted the balaklava over his face and rediscovered the composure he'd entered the room with. He spoke with absolute conviction, "If they fail to pay up then... then they only have themselves to blame for the backlash they receive. In two days we will demonstrate how serious we are. We'll strike at the heart, choosing a handful of wide ranging targets, including members from Five _and _Six. They'll be held account for their wrong doings. Some of Britons finest snipers, explosive experts and tactical experts want their voices heard and you shouldn't for a minute under estimate our intention of following through with our threat."

Damp sweat had now formed on Harry's brow as he contemplated Andrew's threat and the sheer resolution in his eyes. Harry held no doubt of steadfast desire for blood to be shed and that Andrew was utterly serious in his plans

The pace of his words were quick, his teeth gritted in a mix of trepidation and anger. "This is blackmail. The government won't be held to ransom."

"Oh, come on Pearce. The IRA, Ministers, Hackers, even Islamic extremists, we both know our governments' paid off more people in the last decade than you've had hot dinners"

His voice softened and breaths deepened as he tried to talk sense to a crazed man. "Could you really kill, maim those you've worked with, friends who when you were part of the services worked tirelessly to save _your_ life? Christ man! Look at your logic. You said you're trying to protect those in the service, how's that achieved by killing them? "

A smirk crossed his framed lips. "There are those in the service who don't deserve the lives they lead."

A sickness churned in Harry's stomach and with it any hope he held of 'getting through' all but vanished. Risking another beating, "what if you're not taken seriously? You talk the talk but for all I know you're two, maybe three burned out spooks that are living a fantasy...a dream."

His words seem to strike a cord and pacing in front of Harry he paused for a moment before replying, "Ok, so you go back, speak to the JIC, to government, and sure there is a risk we may not be taken seriously. The fact that we are, will of course be prove beyond doubt in good time, but till then I expect you'll no doubt try to concoct some elaborate plan. Dig up my past, use it against us. There's a risk me and the others may meet a sticky end or worse, behind bars." Harry didn't reply, that was exactly what he planned on doing. Standing still Andrew turned to face Harry, he thought for a moment before continuing. "We _do_ have to be taken seriously and we will still return you to Themes House. You will deliver our message as before, but a sacrifice will have to be made...collateral damage if you like." Harry felt a second wave to the uncomfortable notch building in his stomach. Andrew stooped down to match Harry's eye level as he finished. "Sorry dear boy, but maybe your dead body will be enough of a wakeup call and an unpleasant glimpse of things to come to guarantee our sincerity."

Andrew removed the black pistol he had stashed in his belt. His leather gloves creaked as his grip tightened and Harry's heart pounded and eyes widened but before he'd an opportunity to object Andrew's minion had launched herself at his self-appointed executioner. Andrew was forced to step back and with her back to Harry, the woman placed herself between the two.

Her French was fast but delivered in a stern tone "Pour la saké de God! Ce n'est pas le plan, Pearce doit rester vivant.

[For God's sake! This is not the plan, Peace must remain alive.]

His tone was non-negotiable. "Well it's the plan now. Dead or alive he can deliver our message and I'd sleep better knowing it was the latter...".

His operational time in France had meant close connections to agents out French seemed native to a north-western accent but not recognising her voice he wondered if she might have been an agent Six had used. If she was having doubts then maybe he'd found a chink in their armour, perhaps he could divide the two? His mind drifted,_ if she understands English as she obviously does, why is she only speaking French?_ Harry didn't have time to deliberate further as the women was again pushed to one side.

"...Unless you wish to join him I suggest you shut up! If you don't want to be here then you can go tell the boys to load up the van, this won't take long."

The woman began to timidly retreat to the edge of the room. Her gaze focused on the floor, she obviously felt uncomfortable with the direction things were going.

Harry pleaded directly to her," vous êtes fidèle à un homme trompé"

["You are faithful to a mad man"] his desperate words and hope of appealing to her was met with another solid blow to his head. The metallic taste of blood now rinsed over his tongue.

"Common' now Harry I don't want you to be all battered up for when your family come to identify you."

"You're sick Andrew."

Over his years of services he'd brought the country to the brink of war, been shot and held captive more times than he could count but the this man stirred a fear darkest to Harry, betrayal. Betrayal of a man who once he'd, knowing or otherwise, trusted with his life. Andrew was now simply a mad man with a deadly concoction of bitterness and delusions of self-grandeur adding to the venom that flowed through his veins and it was this that drove a thirst for blood and retribution.

Stepping a pace back again Andrew tightened his grip and cocked back the hammer, pointing it at Harry's chest. Harry strained hard on the restraints wrapped round his wrists. The adrenaline numbed the pain as thick tacky blood aided the lubrication of his wrists. It was clear Harry's execution was becoming a reality and with this, the woman's anxieties grew.

"Andrew svp. Pas ceci. Svp."

["Andrew please. Not this. Please."]

Andrew ignored her; his eyes were locked with Harry's. Harry could detect her nerves and his heart thumped hard in his chest. If he had more time maybe he could turn her, he needed to stall things.

"Good-bye Pierce"

Time was running out. Harry was looking down the barrel of the gun, wrists bloodied, his restraints still too tight to break, his face stiffened with fear, he opened his mouth to plea with any remaining humanity left in Andrew, to the spook he used to be. His words would come too late and the deafening crack of the 9mm round detonating flashed its way round the room...

*Quote from Harry's Diary

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_no beta so i'll apologize in advance._

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....Harry couldn't feel the pain and seconds passed by in slow motion. Opening his eyes he saw Andrew's glassy stare peering through his masked face.

Harry dropped his head to his chest to check his wound. His dirtied white shirt was marred with the damp of sweat and grime, but no blood. A thud snapped Harry's head up. Andrew had fallen to his knees. His eyes still holding their stony stare as his body slumped to one side revealing a discrete stream of crimson dripping down from his baklava onto the collar of his grey suit.

A figure stood frozen, glued to the spot. Harry looked towards his saviour. Her pistol still directed towards Andrew as shaking breath staggered from her lips. Muffled voices from outside woke her from the shock and spurred her into action. Walking briskly behind Harry, the slice of a knife through the stretched cords caused his arms to spring apart.

Harry stood up and turned round to face her. "Who are you?"

Sombrely she placed the penknife she'd just used to free him firmly in his hand. "Une ami" ["A friend"] He closed his fingers round the pen knife, there wasn't time for anymore conversation as the door opened and a butch man in dark jeans and green t-shirt entered. Late thirties he'd a short neck, barrel chest, thick forearms and faded tattoo on his neck. His full face had receding short black hair & greying stubble that curved his jaw. His head darted between them and the body on the floor, quickly pulling his gun on the obvious traitor.

Her gun already drawn, she turned it at the entering man. There was a blur of shots. Harry dashed towards what appeared to be an exterior door. His hand on the handle the shooting stopped and he looked back. Both the woman and the man were shot and lay crumpled on the floor. Harry cursed himself as he went back to help the woman. Grabbing the woman's fallen gun from the floor he aimed it at the man slumped in the doorway and squeezed the trigger to finish the man last riving moments.

Looking down the French lady sat, half lying on the floor. Her black jumper glistened metallic red around her left shoulder and the floor was now slippery underfoot as a pool of rich red bathed the varnished wood. Moaning in pain and with great effort she tried to drag herself away from Harry.

"Here." Harry roughly heaved her to her feet. The thunder of heavy boots vibrated through the wooden floors of the cottage and two masked men appeared in the oak doorway. The men wore the same dark jeans, had thick padded black jackets and wore the now familiar, black baklava and same 9mm pistols.

Thinking on his feet he turned the woman round to face the men holding his gun to her head. The strength in her legs failing and in an effort to keep her standing he pulled her closer to him and wrapped his left arm round the front of her. The pressure and tightness of his arm across her chest caused muffled moans of pain as she tilted on the edge of consciousness. The men hesitated as they took in the sight in front of them.

With his human shield in place Harry had a split second to decide what to do. Swiftly he backed them both towards the back of the room and the external door. Her body beginning to slip, he had to all but choke her as he dragged her. A donkey kick from Harry ensured the rickety back door broke open. The woman, finally succumbed and her body went limp. Slipping from his arms to the floor, she fell with a dull thud in the gap bridging the doorway. A last blast of rounds from Harry scattered throughout the room causing those inside to break for cover. Pressing his back to the outer wall he looked down at the woman. Her chest heaved and her lungs wheezed whilst her body lay relatively still. Her head turned, It was the first time she'd looked directly at him. He saw the helplessness and the fear in her eyes. He felt overwhelmed to help her, comfort her, he didn't. The chink of bullets hitting the edge of the door frame sent splintered wood flying through the air. With her eyes still on him he turned on the spot and began to run.

The cottage backed straight onto a thickly wooded forest that gave him half a chance against his hunters. The whistles of bullets gradually became more distant and after another minute of had stopped completely. His breathing smacked like a hammer in his chest, his lungs burning and muscles weak he finally paused to catch his breath and get his bearings. Bracing his hands on his knees his heavy breathing gradually slowed with the gentle rush of wind and distant bird song replacing his breathing and the crack of gunfire. Still carrying the pistol he checked the magazine for the ammo. Doing so caused him to catch sight of himself. From collar to chest, down to his cuff, his left side was soggy with blood, the cotton clinging tightly to his skin. It wasn't his blood and he briefly thought back to the pointless waste of life he'd just witnessed. Stuffing the gun in his trousers he briskly jogged on, he needed to be back on the grid. If there were men left to fill Andrew's role then the risk to national security remained…

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**Next chapter's coming very soon and with it, a little twist. **

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	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Note: I began this Fic pre series 7 so Adam, Ben and Connie are still alive n' kicking.

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It had taken Harry 3 hours to get back to his office. A team from special branch had been sent to turn over the cottage but arrived to find it ablaze and any useful evidence destroyed.

Harry had showered and changed into a spare crisp, starch-collared suit. Meanwhile Malcolm had got his weekly dose of excitement when he recognised the penknife Harry had been given as one of his own designs. Within it contained a concealed compartment capable of storing a M.D.D.P. 'A Micro- Digitalised Data Plaque', or as he explained to Harry 'a sort of miniature memory stick'. Malcolm had only ever made two or three. He'd kept them in his tech office but with little practical need in the field, or otherwise, they'd sat in a draw for years and inevitably as things tended to, disappeared over time.

Malcolm was left to work his magic and it didn't take long to decode the simple encryption. To the teams surprise all information on the group's planned attack was extensively revealed. A bomb attack on Themes house, sniper assassinations of The Home Secretary, The Director General and even the Met Police Chief were retrieved including the names, back history and safe house locations of all those involved. All of whom were former Five, Six or other security service employees and all had been dispelled by the service for a mix of reasons. The only data missing was on the French woman.

Adam and Harry mused over the new developments.

"She must have known what she was giving you."

"You think she pre-empted my release?"

"Maybe, in which case this Intel could be a trap."

"I'm not convinced, it was too messy for even the most elaborate double bluff."

"or she's working the inside?"

"Hmm... perhaps. Get six on it, if she is one of ours then I want to know."

Harry was wary in regards to the authenticity of the information but with nothing else to go on he authorised S0-19 to raid the safe houses across the city. Adam and Ben co-ordinated the efforts whilst He instructed Jo to begin checking with all local hospitals. Harry wanted to question her more and with the slim chance their informant had survived, she would defiantly be in need of medical attention. Connie would try to her contacts at six in case they could shed any more light on the whole matter.

Results from the lab on Harry's blood soaked shirt finally arrived and yielded a DNA sample but so far didn't match any past or present personnel. Malcolm began the arduous task of trawling through the national database. Harry was pushing French authorities for access to their databases but they were being uncooperative, uneasy at the prospect of any of their agents being linked to internal terror attacks on UK service.

The raid on safe house addresses resulted in multiple shoot-outs. Three suspects were killed and another two choose to end their own lives, bringing the death toll to a confirmed seven, one remained in hospital, his condition critical. Suffering massive blood loss and three separate gunshot wounds to the chest, there was no way he would be answering any questions any time soon. If he were lucky he'd die, the healthier alternative than being left at the hands of some of Briton's best interrogators.

Sitting at his desk Harry ran the length of the penknife casing over his wrists, the cold metal soothed his raw skin. The burning heat escaping his stripped skin soon warmed the metal and Harry gently placed the penknife down on his desk. Turning to look at the open files of the disgraced agents they'd either killed or arrested his personal relief came that none of the names included were people he'd associated with. With no link to any of them it made him wonder as to why he had been selected to be 'the messenger'. His mind restless but body exhausted he summoned the strength to go get some coffee.

Half way across the grid Malcolm jumped from his chair. "I've got a match on the woman!"

Harry turned on his heels "Well?"

"A Miss Melanie Porter…"

Harry frowned, it was almost disappointment that filled him as he fruitlessly searched his brain for any memory of the name. "Background?"

"Well she's never been in the service that's certain. Now aged 39 she wasn't anything special at school. Had a string of jobs since then, her last, a secretary at a city solicitors, made redundant in 2006. Last known address was south London, Lewisham. She wasn't married and was reported missing 6th August 2006. Nothing's been seen of her since. No past links with the service. Nothing to suggest motive."

Harry mused a moment. "There must be _something_. Your average person doesn't just get caught up with ex-service agents for her secretarial skills. I'll get Jo to look into her background, past employers, old boyfriends and maybe where the hell she's been for the last couple of years."

"Harry... do we really need to know? I mean we know who she is now and we've stopped the attacks, all of the other agents are either dead or in custody and chances are she's dead too."

Harry strained a look at Malcolm' s screen and the old passport photo of Melanie Porter. She had a round pale face shaped by light brown hair and dark roots. Her lips were thin and eyes a mottle blue. "I know Malcolm. I admit the name and face doesn't set any bells ringing, but there's a feeling I just can't shift, not least because the more we find out about her the more question are thrown up. Why speak French? She obviously knew English yet she only ever spoke French. You said yourself she wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, how'd she encrypt the micro-plaque? How did she even get hold of one of _your _penknives? There are too many question marks for my liking, so for now… we carry on."

**More soon…Please click the review button :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Well done to those of you still with me on this one! This is a longer chapter but couldn't bring myself to break it up, hope you enjoy.**

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**Chapter 4**

Dark clouds suffocated the remainder of the cold evening's light and wind battered the windows of Harry's living room. The TV's played in the background, a muffled sound escaping its small speakers its purpose seemed only to illuminate the darkened room.

Dressed in now crumpled work attire, his braces slack and tie loosened, Harry's sat slumped in his black leather armchair. In his right he nurses a generous serving of single malt. Shutting his eyes his left hand pinched the bridge of his nose. A slow steady rock of Harry's glass caused the amber whisky to swirl. His hand fell to his side and he held a transfixed and empty stare, all sense of time, lost. The evening had simply lapsed by, only the sound of next door's barking dog briefly braking him from his trance. Releasing a deep breath slowly from his lips, his spare hand rubs his face back to its senses. Moving his hand higher he slowly massages his throbbing temples in the vein hope the action might somehow wipe the day's revelations from his mind....

EARLIER THAT DAY:

What had been daubed operation Spring-Clean, the raiding of safe houses along with the investigation & subsequent removal of any persons listed on the microchip had been an overall success. Intel on the chip had been utterly accurate in every detail and Miss Melanie Porter was all but acquitted as it was supposed her intensions had always been to deliver the information.

It was now several days since Harry's abduction, things had quietened down since and a sense of normality had restored. The team were now half way through a morning debrief. The only remaining conspirator had died the previous night in hospital and extensive investigation into the deceased renegade spooks found that the threat had been satisfactory contained.

Ros addressed the team. "So the only loose end is the fate of Melanie Porter and with it, her motivation for her involvement in Spring-Clean."

"Six claim they've never heard of her." Sighed Connie, rather bored of Harry's continued weighted interest on the topic.

Jo, egger to please, had worked hard on trying to discover a link but had also hit a brick wall. "The French secret service eventually allowed us access to their records which turned out to be another dead end. After her disappearance in 2006 there's no trace of her and without knowing where she's been the last couple of years, we can't get anywhere."

"So no one has _any_ idea where she went?" asked Adam.

"None, she just.. vanished." answered Ben.

Harry retorted with frustration. " Her name's not Harry bloody Houdin. People don't just vanish."

Harry sighed and there was a general silence till Jo piped up. " Well... maybe she _was_ sent by six." The line on Harry's frown deepened. Jo tried to justify her suggestion. "She spoke French _and_ our investigation shows the plans were likely to have been drawn up outside the UK, outside Five's durastriction ..."

Harry lent heavily back in his chair, "Jo, Six have already denied any involvement. What would be gained by them lying? Besides we know _who_ she is, and although Six's standards of recruitment vary, it just wouldn't make sense to recruit this woman."

"...Unless it was a Black Op." Pondered Adam.

"well exactly!" proclaimed Jo. Pleased she was being taken seriously, if only by Adam.

"A what?" Ben was still adjusting to the hundred of phrases thrown at him on a daily basis.

Harry looked up, "It's an operation conducted with total deniability, often carried out by agents looking for fast track promotions, they're high risk and should things go belly up there's no support."

Harry turned his address to Adam. "It is an idea yes, but the problem with deniable operations are exactly that... official details will be changed and amended to suit the needs of who's running them, hence total anonymity. You could claim just as equally that any of our unsolved cases are in fact Black Op's."

The coloured quickly drained from Malcolm's face. Without a word of explanation he sprang up and almost jogged to his station. Unsure if they should follow or not, Harry signalled for them to stay and he followed Malcolm out onto the grid.

"Malcolm?" he got no reply. By now Malcolm was busy typing and the expression of panic dominated his features. His hands abruptly stilled, the picture of Melanie Porter stared back at him as his eyes widened in disbelief. "Well? You remember her?" Harry lent his weight on the desk and towered over him. Malcolm nodded; his eyes glanced up to Harry before they darted away in a look of dread. He held his patience and coaxed Malcolm on "Well?".

Malcolm stuttered, his expression changing to one of guilt. "It seems so long ago. I'm sorry Harry, I never thought I'd _need_ to remember."

"OK, but now you do, so who is she?"

Malcolm took a breath to compose himself...

Harry had never seen Malcolm quite so flustered. He lived a modest and reserved life. An intelligent man who rarely dare risk his heart on the unpredictable, unfathable road of love. Malcolm's ill composure caused Harry to wonder if this might be an affair of the heart.

"...The files incomplete. Melanie Porter did go missing in August 2006_ but..."_

"Yes?" 'Comon' g_et on with it man_.'

"she was found a day later. Melanie Porter committed suicide."  
"What? But that's not true. We know she was alive less than a week ago."

"No she wasn't." Malcolm uttered back.

"_Her_ blood was all over my shirt!"

Malcolm was hasty to answer "No no, the blood it wasn't _her's_, or at least it isn't now." Malcolm had managed to even confused himself. He looked away, what he was telling Harry was difficult. Harry saw this and softened.

"OK Malcolm, so far this doesn't make any sense. Explain to me what's going on preferably at a speed I understand, using small words and without any technical talk."

Malcolm nodded and looked Harry in the eyes, "August 2006, do you remember what happened around then?"

Harry's patience already tested couldn't excuse his insolence at such a question. "I'm afraid one of my many talents doesn't extend to being a walking calendar."

Malcolm cut through Harry's wit and brought about a silence between the two. "Cotterdam Harry."

Harry had been right about affairs of the heart, only it was his and not Malcolm's that was being spread bare. It was some time since he'd thought about the Cottadam scandal. Almost 3 years on, he'd taught himself to block out his memories, both good and bad, a coping mechanism against a deep felt heartache.

A lump immediately formed in Harry throat and a deep sense of dread loomed deep within his stomach as it instantly tied itself in knots. However much he doubted, knew it to be impossible and willed Malcolm to be wrong, he suddenly already knew what was to come. Stretching one arm he slowly lowered himself onto a chair, his full and solemn attention was on Malcolm's every word.

Malcolm continued, his gazed settling once again on his screen as he spoke. "On the 6th of August Melanie Porter jumped from Waterloo Bridge, she drowned in the Themes, her body was discovered the next morning... She fitted the profile, similar face, height and age.

Harry's face turned a stony grey, his tone was flat as realisation of how he had recognised the woman dawned. "I identified her body."

"Yes."

"The blood, I still don't get it, you said it was a perfect match." A vein hope that Malcolm was wrong hung desperately in his words.

I amended and swapped the records. Fingerprints, blood, even dental records so that Melanie Porter became, [he paused] became Ruth... Needing total deniability I couldn't risk a paper trail so never kept a record of the change and that Ruth's blood, ever tested, would show up as Melanie Porter's."

Harry's hand rubbed roughly over his face his thumb and finger grasped the bridge of his nose and he let out a shaking heavy breath. His tone was soft, he knew the answer to his coming question but in the whirlwind of recent information he needed a second voice of clarity. "So you're telling me that, it was…" pausing, his voice quietened, hardly able to say her name, "…it was Ruth, Ruth who captured me, who released me, who gave us the Intel and... and who I left there?" His voice was close to breaking as finished his words.

"I'm so sorry Harry."

He sat grinding his fists. His voice was a daze, edged with despair and a frustration as he pieced together events. "She spoke French so I wouldn't recognise her voice, she didn't even want _me_ to know it was her." He gritted his teeth and held his composure as he raised himself from the chair and silently headed to his office.

"Harry what do you want me to do?…Harry!"

Brought round from a daze and turned his head to face Malcolm. His voice was quiet and resolute. "Nothing. Do and say nothing." Harry's instructions were greeted with a disheartened nod.

Harry turnied and Malcolm was unable to see on Harry's face of perfect composure the betraying glint of growing tears that threatened to washed his large brown eyes. Malcolm's heart sank, and he couldn't help feelings of frustration at Harry's simple dismissal.

Dispite this he knew Harry was right, he seldom wasn't. There was nothing that could be done. They'd already investigated local hospitals and safe houses. There were no leads and assuming she'd survived and not succumb to blood loss, septicaemia or been terminated for her part in Harry's release, by now she could be anywhere in the country. In addition they could hardy circulate Ruth's picture without Harry and the rest of the section being brought to bear the consequences.

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That evening in the privacy of his own home Harry felt the full effect of his emotion. He'd never grieved Ruth's death, she'd never truly died, and now he was faced with the responsibility of not only her exile but of her death. A death that was well beyond her years, alone, in pain, punctuated by his abandonment. The later playing most poignantly on his mind, he actions that day in the cottage did little other than devour him.

He had looked straight into her eyes, and with the benefit of hindsight, he could see it hadn't just been her expression that had caused him to doubt leaving her but a familiarity, a familiarity which after so long had blurred with time. Guilt enveloped him and now there would be no risk of him forgetting those eyes, for that picture, that picture of desperation and fear would be forever etched on his soul.

Sat in his the warmed leather of his arm chair he necked the remaining liquor in his glass. Standing to his feet he crossed the room to the tall liquor cabinet and crashed the empty glass down by a half drunk bottle of single malt. Pouring another generous serving, the bottle still in his hand, he drank the second in quick succession. As he went to pour yet another glass, a small and faded detail of the bottle caught his attention. Rubbing his thumb over the bottle he traced the faded remains of a letter R that was signed to it. [1]

His grip on the bottle tightened and overcome by a rage fuelled by despair he threw the bottle as hard as he might across the room. It shattered against the opposite wall and the man that seemed able to bear the weight of the world held his face in his hands. Tears welling and shaking in his chest he slid his weight down the cabinet, his sobs growing as he reached the floor. For Ruth, it seemed it was truly over.

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**_(Will Harry be able to live with Ruth's death? Is she even dead? ..find out next :D_ )**

**Thank you for the reviews, they're a great help and fun to read!…. please keep them coming. **

[1]Reference to Harry's Diary: For Harry's Birthday Ruth hid 4 bottles of 14yr old malt in his desk, with the letters R.U.T.H. written on them.


	5. Chapter 5

** I've had to chop this chapter in half so hope it reads ok... **

**Chapter 5**

On Harry's instruction Malcolm had not shared the revelation with the rest of the team. Their time to grieve Ruth's death had passed a long time ago and work continued as normally as it ever did on the grid. Harry kept to himself, his escape was through his work and it was only in his quieter moments that his thoughts of her still taunted him. He would still contemplate the, _what if's_ of his time in the cottage. He'd even find himself cursing her for being so bloody minded, so reckless to have got herself involved in the first place. His thoughts would ultimately return turn to his abandonment of her and the dark picture of her fate. It was this that most sickened and twisted him with sadness.

Malcolm had also struggled with his own guilt. As the weeks went by he, unlike Harry who's temper had remained on a knife edge, had quietly mourned her loss with a sombreness to his mood. Malcolm thinking it would help them both, wanted and needed to talk to Harry.

One afternoon when most the team were off the grid and finding himself in Harry's office he bravely approached the subject, however as soon as the topic was alluded to Harry blew a fuse and the conversation was stopped dead in it's tracks.

"Christ Malcolm I don't have the time to think about myself right now! Perhaps you haven't noticed but the world hasn't stopped turning and I've a never ending mountain of paper work to get on with. So, how I'm feeling right now is rather tired and pissed off. I'd be grateful if rather than fussing around, wondering how _I was feeling_ that that maybe you could get on with your own work as I'm beginning to wonder if I am the only one running this damn department!"

Malcolm recoiled in submission and without reply turned to leave, as he reached the door he paused and looked back to Harry who was sat writing at his desk. "You're not the only one who misses her you know." Harry's pen paused but he didn't look up and with that Malcolm left his office.

Malcolm's words were to be the wake up call he needed and he realised just how selfish he was being. His self pity wasn't helping anyone and it was time to put the past to rest but before he could do that, he needed to fulfil a promise that although faded with time, had not been forgotten. Tomorrow he would arrange a meeting with the DG but in the mean time he'd find Malcolm, apologise and try to be a better friend than he had been.

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**A Month Goes by...**

Late on a Wednesday afternoon and the Southbank was strangely quiet, the first rain of the season herding the tourists and office workers into bustling cafés and restaurants. Harry's lent his weight on the grey stone wall, the spray of rain wafting down through the air and gently settling on his face. His lone figure, draped in a long black coat, velvet collar and checked cashmere scarf, surveyed the fast flow of the Themes in front of him. A man in a state of acceptance, no longer angry just lost in a world of his own thoughts.

Figures pasted by and so did the clock as Harry mindlessly watched the swell of the waters. Slowly the awareness of another person's presence filtered through to his conscious. He squinted as the fine mist of water having now turned to thick droplets freely ran down his brow and using his gloved hand he wiped his face. A meter or so to his side stood a woman and just like Harry she looked out over the Themes. She wore black bootlegged trousers with a deep blue, tailored long coat, the collar turned up against the cold of the wind. Gusts of water laden air settled on all it touched and the detail of her face was shielded from the elements, and Harry's view, by an umbrella.

Unable to detach his curious eyes, slight embarrassment filled him when he realised his attention hadn't gone unnoticed. The woman slowly began to turn to face him. Harry smoothly looked away, now was probably a good time to head on to his meeting at Whitehall. Harry brought his gloved hand to his neck as he heightened the buttons on his coat. Passing a final glance back to the woman that had now partly turned he caught sight of her face and froze as a chill whip-lashed through his body.

Ruth's umbrella was tilted just enough to unmask her face, falling to each side were dark chocolate locks of hair escaping the front of a blue woollen hat that matched her coat. Her porcelain skin contrasted with her perfectly formed, rouge covered lips and a wind burnt rosé tinted her cheeks. For all that it was her breathless blue eyes that pierce straight through his heart and caused the breath to catch in his throat.

She spoke, her words rushed they trembled with a nervousness. "I just...I just wanted you to know... I'm ok." Harry still frozen could only stare in response.

Her purpose complete Ruth turned abruptly to leave. Suddenly waking from his daze he lunged forwards and snatched her arm to stop her. Her wound still healing, as soon as he'd done so Ruth's muffled a cry of pain caused him to immediately regret it.

Harry's grip sprang free. "Christ sorry!" Face to face both now stood in silence for what was only a moment but could have been hours as each lost their words.

Harry's mind flashed back to the vivid memory of his blood soaked shirt and the thick slick of blood that had bathed the floor. He spoke plainly, his tone a mix of shock and confusion "How? I thought- I thought you were dead?"

She dipped her head as guilt pained her features. "So did I but as it turns out they thought _you _had shot me. They left me with a retired vet, he managed to fixed me up as best he could."

Harry looked aghast and simply mouthed his reply, "Right." He was still in shock and Ruth could see the event of that day had affected him more than she could have possibly imagined.

"I'm so sorry. You were never meant to know. I never intended what happened."

"Hmm..." He cleared his throat, forcing himself to give a more substantial response. "If it wasn't for your being shot, I wouldn't have... Is that what you _really_ intended?"

She smiled and couldn't help a playful reply. "Being shot or you not knowing?"

A half laugh escaped him and he nodded. He knew she hadn't wanted him to know, his problem was not being able to reason as to why she'd gone about the way she had, why she'd cut him out. Again a silence fell between them.

His compassion and initial relief was being lost to anger, fuelled by a month of hurt, guilt and thinking she was dead. His voice began softly but held an air of parental chastisement as he broke the silence.

"What on God's earth did you think you were doing?"

Ruth replied with determination, "I didn't go looking for trouble, they approached me. The threat was genuine and I couldn't see any another way to get information other than by joining them."

"You should have just passed on what you had. _We_ could have dealt with it!" Harry struggled to limit the volume of his voice as he began to spit his words.

Ruth remained strong and returned on the defensive. "What information Harry! I had nothing solid, if I'd come to you then, it would only serve to drive their operation underground. I'd of been identify as the leak and the attacks on London made a success..." Harry bit his tongue, he knew she was probably right but he couldn't pacify his anger."...What I _am _sorry for is involving you like I did. To get the final details on the attack I had to convince them I was committed. I did that by instigating your kidnap."

Harry's jaw dropped in total surprise. "_You_ helped them kidnap me?"

"Well I'd always planned on giving you the knife and allowing your escape. I knew you'd discover the micro chip once back on the grid but I didn't think Andrew would try to kill you, at least not then, it just seem to snowball."

His emotions running high, sarcasm flowed freely from his month. "Oh you didn't think he'd try to kill me? Well that's just dandy!...Of all the stupid, ill-conceived, reckless plans. You were..." He paused. He saw her soft features absorb his harsh words and it hit him that this anger stemmed from his own actions. His face quickly softened and a timid smile crept across it as he thought about what she'd achieved. "...you were... well you were brilliant Ruth."

Ruth was completely caught off guard by his sudden change of tact. She hardly dare lift her eyes to his face. A brief glimpse proved to her that despite his scolding a greater pride now shone through his eyes. Catching sight of her hand, he noted the gentle tremor that told him of her nerves. He edged a step closer and his voice again softened, "I'm sorry too and I'm _not _angry. I-I've just thought about that day so much, and it's been difficult knowing it was you."

Ruth apologized again. "That's why I didn't want you to know. That, and if the others had realised I thought you were anything other than the self righteous prick I pretended I thought you were, I doubt either of us would of made it out of that cottage alive. I tried my best to make sure you didn't know for both our sakes."

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Self righteous prick Ruth?"

Ruth turned a shade redder at the realisation of what she'd just said. "Sorry"

"It's OK Ruth, I've been called a lot worse….you know your accent was very good. Fooled _me._"

She returned his smile, "I've had time to practice."

"ah, indeed."

An silent air of reflection settled and Harry took the time to redraw her features, remembering the subtle details he'd lost in time.

"Harry I've said what I needed to. I am sorry and I hope in time you can forgive me."

Her mouth stumbled as if she had more to stay but thought better of it. Bowing her head, she shifted her weight and prepared to turn away once more. "Good-bye Harry"

Harry pleaded. "Don't go yet."

"Please Harry, I-"

"Right of course but you've said what you needed to, so now hear what I have to say. I've got something for you…"

**

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****Second half coming up in a jiffy **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for your reviews, they help A LOT :-) - Chapter continues straight on from the last -**

**Chapter6**

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…Ruth frowned but a smile plagued her lips as her intrigue got the better of her "You didn't know I was coming or alive for that matter. What could you possibly have for me?"

Harry grinned. "A promise; Or at least the fulfilment of one. I thought you died that day but with no body, I guess I held a hope, or maybe it's just a means to appease my own guilt. Either way I...well-" Harry cut himself off and allowed his actions to explain themselves. Unbuttoning his coat he pulled out a crumpled brown envelope from his top pocket. The corners were worn and edges roughened, it had obviously been there some time, he presented it to Ruth.

With a look of apprehension her face was pained as she attempted to raise her spare hand to his. She hesitated. "Would you open it for me?" Tearing open the envelope he handed her the thickly embossed papers. Her widening eyes skimmed over the introduction.

_Her Majesty Elizabeth II and her Government acknowledge the contribution of Military Intelligence 5 in Operation Spring Clean. In recognition of these efforts I Director General of Her Majesties security service hereby attach and detail the fundamental role of, deep cover operative, Ruth Evershed and with permission of the crown hereby revoke all associated convictions._

Her hand trembled as she held the paper, visibly shaken she looked to Harry to explained what was before her.

He obliged, "This is the Black Op you've been in, or could be."

shaking her head,"B-Black Op?"

"Yes. Cotterdamn, it was used to send you into deep cover. A disgraced agent you then waited for contact from Andrew Cook and his conspirators. You single headedly infiltrated his deranged scheme, foiled his attempt at my execution and provided the information needed to apprehend all those involved…"She stared disbelievingly at the paper before her."... Ruth I promised you I'd sort this mess out. I know it's been a long time but if you sign, that will be the official story, and you _will_ get your life back."

Ruth looked down to the bottom of the page a blank space marked the space of her signature. "You did all this?"

"Yes"

Again she shook her head as her anxiety grew. "How? If they know I'm alive then they know you lied about Cotterdamn."

"That was a little tricky but the DG's been very understanding about that, his name was on the assassination list after all. Moreover it puts him in good light with the Home Secretary if he can claim party to such a successful operation."

She was stunned, her life seemed to be a revolving door. "And all I do is sign?"

"Yes... there are a few conditions though."

Ruth half laughed "There always are."

"You would have to cut any ties with the life you been living, work, friends, everyone. You could return to work in the service with a sizeable salary boost of course and your criminal record would be...corrected."

A pained expression dawn her features. "Everyone?" Harry realised not much of what he'd said past the first sentence had been absorbed. He didn't reply, it was more a case of her venting her own inner turmoil than a question for him to answer.

Harry knew nothing of Ruth's life since that misty Autumn morning when she left all those years ago. No wedding band told him she wasn't married but that did little to comfort him and he realised he'd be foolish to imagine she had been alone all these past years.

"I wanted you to have the option, and I _needed_ , for both your sake and my own, to keep my promise, to sort things out."

"what happens if I don't sign?"

Harry felt a blow to his chest as he outwardly maintained a manner of professionalism. "Then-" He took a slow breath, "then you continue your life as you wish, but Ruth Evershed will have to remain dead and as far as official records go."

"I emm- I need time."

"Of course but I can't-

"-I know… just a few days?"

Harry nodded and Ruth folded the paper and slid it into her pocket. "Saturday, mid-day by the docks, you know the place?"

"Sure."_ 'How could I forget?' _

--

Since her departure whenever he thought of Ruth he had the same snap shot replayed repeatedly through his mind. Her lone silhouette drifting away as the small barge chugged its way down the Themes. Diamonds of afternoon sunlight dancing on the water as the breeze washed the impression of her lips off his. Her character forever frozen in his memory. She had been vulnerable, loyal and with a true heart. He had imagined her new life a lonely one, her heart empty and unfulfilled. But the woman standing in front of him now didn't evoke the impression of someone in any hurry to return to her former life. Harry's image of Ruth's life perhaps in fact represented a truer reflection of his own.

--

The necessaries had been said, Ruth turned to leave and Harry did the same. Stopping she turned back.

"Harry wait"

Rain dripping from his tired face he halted and turned round. She walked back towards him, so close the umbrella covered both their heads she overcame the pain in her shoulder and placed her left hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. "Thank you."

Harry's face relaxed and a new glint sparkled brightly in his eyes. He raised his hand to squeeze her other arm and both shared the warmth of a smile. Braking from his from his usual self-imposed restraint Harry gently leant across to kiss Ruth's cheek. His wet skin brushed hers and the softness of his full lips melted through her check.

The sweet smell of her hair filling his head caused him to linger his lips a moment longer than innocence would allow. His brain, no longer in control of his speech, allowed him to utter the soft words of his broken heart.

"I miss you so much Ruth."

His hot breath swept her neck and as head slowly retreated and the prickle of his stubble on her skin sent goose bumps down the length of her back. Her watery eyes swam through his as their arms slid free. Bitting her lip she swiftly she redirected her gaze away from his. '_Was she embarresed or just emotional?'_ Either way, Harry couldn't help but feel foolish as his declaration went all but unrecognised.

Her head spun with a confusing mix of information and emotions, reality still needed it's time to sink in. Bowing her head she signified she was leaving and as she turned and began to walk away a flash of guilt shadowed her features. Harry's face remained composed, the only tell being his fists, clenching them tightly the leather quietly creaked as, once again, he had to watch her leave.

--

That night he didn't sleep. He lay awake, countlessly replaying events in his mind, going back and forth as to what he'd said and done. It would be three years this August, three years and still he burned a flame for her. Should he of said more, less? It's not as if they were ever a couple. They'd only ever had one date, one date and one heartbreaking kiss. She was a intelligent, kind hearted and beautiful woman who'd probably moved on a long time ago. He didn't want to guilt Ruth into coming back but at the same time he was almost desperate to convey that it was more than her job she had waiting for her in London. The next few days were some of Harry's slowest…

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**Hope you're still enjoying the fic, please leave a review. Long/short I always love reading what you think and it's what makes writing these Fics so worth it.**

**The final chapter(happy or angst ending, i'm still in two minds) is almost complete. Stay tunned :D **


	7. Chapter 7

**OK here goes...**

**Chapter 7 **

Saturday came and Ruth's stomach twisted with nerves. She too had had sleepless nights and after going back and forth as to what to do, she wasn't sure how Harry was going to react to her decision.

Walking down the shabby dockside, the warmth of the sun glowing on her face she found a seat on a weather beaten bench that faced the water. Her thoughts ran back to times past, the memory of Zaf waiting with her seemed so fresh, the news of his death had reached her whilst working with Andrew and a sadness filled her. Turning her thoughts to happier times she grinned as she recalled what an awful flirt he'd always been. On several occasions he'd teased her it'd take an older woman to tame him and she chuckle to herself. She'd always enjoyed the attention, it was light-hearted & harmless, but flattering all the same. Her thoughts quickly returned to Harry, his teases, his flirts were different, subtle and lined with a genuine chemistry between them. Her memory drifted to the smouldering pout that would dawn his features whenever his mind was deeply engaged and to the kiss she'd so tenderly shared on this very dock, a kiss she'd often since dreamt of. With that thought her features faded to a more serious appearance. This wasn't a dream this was reality and as she reflected upon the repercussions of her decision her hands became dank with moisture and her head dizzy with nerves.

During the years they'd known each other Harry had given her his most guarded asset, his trust. He was more than just her boss he was a friend... her best friend. But had that changed? Was something they almost had, enough to abandon her new life? a life she'd struggled so hard to build.

Walking down a gangway Harry was led to the dockside, he could see Ruth sat on the bench and although expecting her, the sight still caught him with surprise. At a glance she seemed nervous. Was that a good or bad omen? Taking a deep breath he approached her.

"Ruth" The soft caress of her name hadn't changed with time. Twisting slightly to face him, Ruth warmly smiled and bowed her head in acknowledgement.

Leaving no more than an inch to part them, he settled himself next to her. Nether immediately spoke, instead the sound of water lapping against rotten wood and the rumble of distant boat engines filled the silence. Each used the time to steady the beat of their drumming chests.

Harry cleared his throat. "Have you made a decision?"

Ruth's reply was instant. "Yes."

Somewhat taken back with the heist of her answer but having dwelled on nothing else the past few days he was eager to know one way or the other. Angling his body towards hers, a move mirrored by Ruth, the gap all but closed between them.

Her mouth seemed to tremble and no words could escape her lips. Seeing this, Harry was patient, his soft voice soothing her nerves. "It's ok...I won't bite." He offered reassuring smile.

She returned the smile. She didn't want to draw this out any longer than she had to but there were things she wanted to say. Finally she brought herself to speak, "Harry, first I- I want you to know these last few years I've- well I've built a life in France. I've a good job, good friends, even a home..." He could feel his chest constricting and heart ripping as Ruth spoke and his smiled faded to something more grave. "...It's- It's not something I can just give up, I-."

That was enough for Harry. "Stop. Please... You don't need to justify yourself. I want you to be happy." He swallowed the hurt, the swelling pain that twisted in his heart and reaching over he took hold of her hand, squeezing it gently. It was enough to glaze her eyes with a film of tears and her voice shook with emotion.

"I'm not justify _anything_ but I just need you to understand-"

Again Harry interrupted her. "I do, I do." His grip squeezed her small hand a little tighter. He wore a brave face but she knew he was just trying his best to make things as easy as possible for her.

She squeezed his hand back tightly. "I don't think you do though."

Harry gave in, dropping his head he rose to his legs. Turning his back to her he faced the river. His crossed arms supported the hand that cradled his exhausted face. The realisation he was losing her again had dawned.

The feel of Ruth's gentle hand pried his heavy hand gently from his face. Harry looked up and tried to recover an air of composure as best he could. He had promised himself it was to be her decision alone, he wouldn't try to change her mind. His voice remained muted by a fear of what he might confess whilst his chest stiffened as he attempted by shear will to prevent tears forming at their ducts.

"I just want you to understand, no, I _need_ you to understand..."

Harry nodded as the words only barely broke though and he drifted into a fog of sadness. Ruth tugged on his hand to snap his head round and caught his eye. "Harry I'm thankful for the good life I have in France. I'm thankful you cleared my name and I'm thankful you didn't forget me, as I didn't forget you." Harry didn't reply, he couldn't, a lump had now formed so large in his throat that it seemed impossible for even air to pass it.

Uninterrupted Ruth continued. Her voice crumbled with emotion and without knowing it her grip tightened on his hand. "I don't blame you for _anything_, I never will. I don't regret my life in France, it's a good life and logically I can't think of anything more rash than to abandon it all on the pretence I can return to London and life be the same as it was..."

"Mm," Harry's diction had been reduced to a mere noise and he punctuated it with weary sigh.

She paused a moment before continuing, her voice was now slower and softer. "Logically I can only give you one answer, that I return to France where I have everything…" His face held no expression but his eyes were filled with un-spent tears, she paused to make sure she had his attention before continuing. "... yet, yet despite that I still find myself torn, torn between my head and my heart. You see there's always been that something missing. The thing that nothing else has been able to fill. A feeling I get when I do this job, a job that terrifies and much as it excites me and... of a special friendship, that I can't seem to find in anyone else." Harry's eyes widened as he dared to interpret her words for fear he could be wrong. Ruth continued. "... I want to come home Harry."

His mouth ajar he looked at her in disbelief, and the feel his heart thumping his ribs became deafening as he dared venture a response. "You're sure?"

A smile began to line her face and Ruth broke her hand away and pulled out the letter from her pocket, her signature decorating the bottom. "I'm sure."

Harry carefully took it from her. His face danced as disbelief turned to delight. Having underestimated just how much she'd long for such a reunion Ruth turned her head to screen her tears and a smiled spread through Harry's eyes as he pressed a comforting hand on her shoulder whilst using his other hand to gently turn her face back towards him. Facing him, her silent tears ran freely down her checks. Their eyes both waterlogged a relief overcame them and both burst into laughter.

Though the laughter and the tears Harry feigned an attempt to 'save face', "You know for a moment Ruth you almost had me." Ruth's grin widened and her checks wets with tears Harry wondered if he'd ever seen anyone quite so beautiful. "That was close to torture, you know I don't know whether to throw you in the river or kiss you." Their laughter abruptly stopped. Harry hadn't meant to come out with that _exact_ expression but he had, and a fear stuck him that he'd already overstepped the blurred line of their relationship.

The fear was short lived, before either knew who had moved first Harry found Ruth in his arms. Her hands were pressed against his chest, clinging to the lapels of his jacket and as one of his hands held the small of her back the other cupped her delicate face. Their lips mere inches apart, Harry tilted his head the gap closed. His lips softly connected with hers. There, their lips remained, all but motionless as faintness, from such a slow and tender kiss, drained their every thought.

Pulling back, just a little, her nose resting next to his. His body smelt sweet, as if he'd just showered and the sensation of his moist breath, so close to her skin, sent goose bumps down her spine. Her voice was almost a whisper but clearly tainted with concern, "Harry."

Drugged from their kiss and of how close he now held her, he didn't offer much of a response. "Hm?"

Her voice still a nervous whisper. "Harry I- I don't know if I'm the same woman who left this dock three years ago."

He was suddenly aware of the truth of her words. He knew they had both been though a lot these years and he wasn't naive enough to think either of them could be unaffected. He breathed out heavily and ensuring both arms were now wrapped round her he tilted his head back to look her in the eye. "Well I dare say I'm not the same man, but that doesn't change how I feel about you." He smiled and Ruth nodded as more tears trickled down her face. Harry lent back into their embrace "c'mon now...no more tears or you'll set me off again." Ruth burst into soft laughter and adding to each other's contentment, held onto him a little tighter.

The warmth of Harry's broad chest and strong arms surrounded her. Moments passed and in the silence that settled, she'd couldn't remember when she'd ever felt safer. Turning her head close to his ear she whispered with a total tenderness, "I've missed you _too _Harry". His chest gave with her words and holding each other a moment longer they slowly separated. A coy smile shared by both.

"So what happens next?"

Harry's smile glowed through his glistening eyes "Well I don't know about you but I could do with a drink… sweet tea?"

Ruth giggled. "Sounds perfect."

Taking a liberty he linked her arm as they turned and together they strolled away from the dock side. Tilting his head towards her ear he continued. "Then after, perhaps we could start with an amnesty for all of Malcolm's gadgets and toys you've seemed to of collected". She looked up, his tease was accompanied by a wink and she couldn't help but return with a flirtive smile. A happiness reflected in each other's face, they ambled alongside the river, an empty barge passing them as they did, tugging its way downstream.

Whatever else remained and whatever expectations each might possess, it was the simple reunion of their friendship that filled each with a wholesome sense of satisfaction. For the time being they would take things in small, baby sized steps, first taking pleasure in the simple prospect of each others' companionship and if in time that would lead to back to love then so be it. If not, if they only remained the closest of friends then they still would still hold a bond greater than that of many lovers.

_FINI_


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